


Loveliest in the Rain

by chassecroise (rhapsodyinpink)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: 1890s ladynoir, 1920s ladrien, F/M, Magical Realism, Time Travel, no powers au, present day adrinette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6811783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhapsodyinpink/pseuds/chassecroise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By all accounts, Adrien Agreste has the perfect life. But he often wonders what it would be like to visit the past, and one night, he finally gets the chance. (A Midnight in Paris AU!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loveliest in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> A big shoutout and lots of love to the lovely Operamatic who gave me the idea for this in the first place!
> 
> Also, I apologize for any and all feels you may experience on this crazy ride.
> 
> PS: [this is the trailer for the film](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FAfR8omt-CY) that this story is based on! It's a pretty loose adaptation, but I kept a lot of the beats in. It's a wonderful film- if you love Paris, the 1920s, and gorgeous scenery, you should definitely watch it!

Adrien Agreste should be perfectly content right now. It’s a sunny spring morning at the Giverny Gardens, the breeze is perfect, and he’s standing on a romantic bridge next to his fiancée and childhood friend, Chloe Bourgeois, who looks like a vision in her pale yellow sundress.

Any other man in his place would feel like the luckiest man in the world.  

And yet—there’s something not quite right, like he’s got every piece of the puzzle in place but the last one and he can’t find it anywhere in the box.

Perhaps he feels this way because he’s been working so hard; ever since he’s taken over as director of his father’s fashion empire, he’s risen it to new heights while composing piano and orchestral scores at night at the same time.

Chloe often tells Adrien that he should take a break from the music to focus on the company, but he knows he can’t. He’s always wanted to be a composer, but he’s always been very filial, so he took over his father’s company instead. The music is his one concession to the dreamer he’s always been inside, and he can’t let it go.

Still, Adrien can’t blame her for thinking that way. He’s always been the romantic out of the two of them, while she’s always been a practical minded woman, with a sharp eye and keen financial acumen. He figures it has to do with the fact that her father was once the mayor of Paris, and now continues to reign over an increasingly large hotel empire.

Their relationship isn’t perfect, but it’s familiar, and he’s willing to make it work if she is too. 

He smiles at the frown crease on her forehead and presses a kiss on the wrinkle as he wraps his arms around her waist.

“You look beautiful in that dress. Is it new?”

“God, Adrien, your head is always in the clouds,” says Chloe, pulling away and rolling her eyes. “I’ve had this dress for years.”

“Well, it looks brand new in a beautiful setting like this!” replies Adrien, trying to salvage the situation. “You look like you could fit right into a Monet painting. Giverny suits you well.”

“Please, Adrien, come up with something better. I know you’re in love with the fantasy of it all, but I’m tired of being compared to old paintings and songs. Anyway, did you see the email that Papa sent you? He’s found some lovely vintage furniture pieces for the new apartment. He’s set up an appointment for Tuesday afternoon with the dealer. You’re free then, right?”

“Oh—well, I have to check,” says Adrien, startled by the sudden shift in mood.

But he should have known better. Chloe’s never really been one for romance. It was his idea for the two of them to take a day trip to Giverny; Chloe would have rather spent the day shopping for décor to fill the new apartment they will be moving into next month, or wedding planning.  She only agreed because he said it would be a short trip.

“Please do,” she says. “I don’t want to miss out on this deal.”

 

* * *

By the time they return to Paris in the afternoon, the clear skies have darkened, and it’s raining.

Adrien smiles as he looks out the car window.

“Paris is most beautiful in the rain, don’t you think?”  

“God, no. You know what it does to my hair,” says Chloe, shuddering.

Adrien laughs. “I knew you would say that.”

He turns to look at her. “So I’ve made progress on the new score I’m composing—you know, the Gershwin inspired piece. I think I’m finally capturing the feeling of the time period.” 

Chloe frowns. “Adrien, how many times do I have to tell you that if you're going to be a successful musician, you need to write something relevant and new? Nobody wants to hear old music like that unless you’ve been hired to write music for a period film.”

Suddenly, her eyes light up with excitement. “Wait, Adrikins, have you?”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, this is still just a passion project. But I’m planning to show it around to producers once I finally finish it.”

“Oh.”

They lapse into silence once more, and Adrien wonders how he could capture the melancholy ambiance of the rain in song. Perhaps a simple piano melody would be best, accompanied by a violin—a duet of two strings. His fingers itch to write down the notes flooding into his mind, but his hands are empty; he left his notebook at home.

Chloe’s impatient sigh interrupts his reverie.

“So did you check your schedule, like I asked? You can come on Tuesday, right? I don’t want to miss out on these pieces, Adrichou. They’re from the seventeenth century.”  

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and purses her lips. “Can you please try to sound a little more excited? This is for our apartment.”

Adrien turns his full attention to his fiancée with a thousand watt smile. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be so charming that the dealer will take a couple thousand euros off the asking price.”

“That's what I like to hear from my model fiancé,” says Chloe, finally satisfied.

Adrien grins as they pull up to her mansion. “So what are your plans for the afternoon? The rain is clearing up, as per mademoiselle’s wishes.”

“I’m going shopping with Sabrina. And you’re coming too, I need an extra pair of arms.” 

“Can we go to a bakery on the way?” 

“Not while we’re together. Do whatever you want beforehand, just make sure you’re at Chanel by 4:30pm. I have an appointment then, and it won’t do if you aren’t there with me.”

Chloe gets out of the limo, and in a rush of pearls and perfume, she’s gone.

Adrien sighs and leans against the backseat, directing the driver to take him to the nearest bakery. He spends enough time in the world of fashion during the workday, but thanks to his fiancée, he’s been spending most of his weekends in it as well, and he needs some time off.

He needs some sweet sustenance to hold onto before he dives back into it, and nothing sounds better to him than a flaky pastry and some lighthearted conversation about nothing at all.

* * *

“I’m sure you’ll love this bakery, Master Adrien,” says the driver as he pulls up to the curb, noting Adrien’s look of exhaustion. He’s been working for Adrien’s family for a long time, and has seen Adrien grow up from a young age.

“The croissants are to die for, and the family that runs it is very sweet.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, they are a very sweet middle-aged married couple. They remind me of Mademoiselle Bourgeois and yourself, actually.”

Adrien can’t imagine Chloe ever wanting to actually step foot into a kitchen to do anything other than order the chef around, but he appreciates the romantic sentiment.

He tells the driver he’ll be back in a few minutes and walks inside. He notices two things immediately: a) one of his favorite Cole Porter songs is playing over the speakers, and b) the woman standing behind the counter and humming along is neither middle-aged nor married, from the looks of her bare ring finger and summery pink dress.

She’s petite and energetic, with bright blue eyes and dark hair pulled into two jaunty pigtails, reminiscent of a young schoolgirl—though she appears to be about the same age as Adrien.

Even though he’s never seen her before, he feels immediately drawn to her, as though he knew her in a past life, and it’s slightly unsettling. He blinks in confusion and shakes away the thought as he realizes she’s talking to him.

“Salut, monsieur!” she says, smiling at him with a friendly wave. “How can I help you?”

“I—I’d like to buy a croissant.”

“Just one?”

“Yes, please.”

“Coming right up! Feel free to explore the rest of the shop while you wait.”

She packs the croissant neatly in flowery pink tissue paper and walks around the register to give it to Adrien, who’s looking at the fancy wedding cake display in the window.

She trips halfway through her walk, and the croissant goes flying in the air. Thankfully, Adrien notices her shriek and turns around just in time.

The girl cringes as it hurtles towards the floor, but Adrien dives for it and catches it right before it touches the ground.

“I’m so sorry!” she cries, pressing her palm against her face. “I’ve always been too clumsy for my own good. Would you like another croissant? For free, of course.”

Adrien laughs. “Don’t worry about it—I needed the exercise.”

The girl shakes her head and returns to the counter. “Please, I feel bad.”

“Okay, if you must. But don’t feel bad! It happens. I can be clumsy sometimes too.”

“I don’t know if I believe that…you seem to be pretty put together,” she replies as she wraps up a second croissant, raising an eyebrow and sizing him up with a smirk.

From the pleased look in her eyes, it’s fairly obvious she likes what she sees, and Adrien finds himself on the blushing end of things.

“Soo…are you a fan of Cole Porter?” he says, trying to change the subject as he tries to will his flaming cheeks back into pale submission.

“I am!” she says, her eyes lighting up. “You’ve got a keen ear. _Let’s Do It_ is one of my favorites.”

“One of his earlier pieces—it’s a real classic,” says Adrien, smiling as she starts singing along to the English words.

As the song ends, she turns to him, beaming eagerly. “There's just something about the 1920s, you know? I just love the aesthetic of the music—it’s just so vibrant and alive! I’m a big fan of Gershwin as well.”

“I love Gershwin too!” says Adrien. “My favorite piece is Rhapsody in Blue.”

“That’s one of my favorite songs!” she says, excited. “It’s so nice to meet another Gershwin fan!” 

Adrien smiles. “It’s a pleasant surprise for me as well. Actually, I like to write music myself—and I’m writing a piece based on An American in Paris…” 

He trails off as he notices the clock. It’s already a quarter to four, and he’ll be late for his meeting with Chloe if he doesn’t leave now.

The girl senses his restlessness and nods. “Well, that sounds like a very interesting project! Good luck with it.”

“Thank you for the extra croissant,” says Adrien, smiling as he waves farewell.

“Thank _you_ for the lovely conversation,” she replies with a sunny laugh.

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien starts eating the croissants as soon as he gets back into the car, and murmurs with pleasure at the soft, buttery texture.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” says the driver with a grin as he observes his passenger in the rearview mirror.

“Amazing,” replies Adrien. “Thank you for the recommendation, Gerard.”

“My pleasure. I knew you would enjoy it. Did you meet either of the owners?”

“No, there was someone else working at the register. She was very friendly though." 

“Ah, that’s a pity. Well, next time.”

It’s only when they’re already halfway to Chanel that Adrien realizes that he forgot to ask the cashier for her name.

* * *

 

At the Chanel atelier, Chloe’s tapping her foot impatiently until Adrien arrives, and she practically mobs him as soon as he walks through the door.

“Adrichou, you’ll never guess what’s going on tonight!”

“Let me see…your father’s hosting another party in your honor?”

“Don’t be silly. Prince Ali is hosting a charity ball at the hotel, and he invited both of us especially. That’s why I needed you here—we need to buy you a new suit. All of the ones you have right now are absolutely atrocious.”

Adrien raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure he invited both of us, or was the invitation specifically for you? I still remember the way you flirted with him the last time he was in town.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Chloe, smirking.

 

* * *

 

 

In the evening, the Grand Ballroom of the Le Grand Paris Hotel quickly fills up with an eclectic mix of Parisian socialites and intellectuals, and Adrien actually finds himself having a good time, until he notices the man who’s talking to Chloe.

It’s XY, the most pretentious musician this side of the Seine and a narcissistic pseudo-intellectual poser who Adrien can’t stand. He doesn’t know how the man has cornered Chloe, but he doesn’t want to talk to him.

He looks around for a dark corner, but unfortunately, Chloe notices him standing there before he can find a place to hide, and waves him over.

“Oh, Adrikins! Come meet Xavier, my old university friend. You know him—he goes by the stage name XY. He’s a prolific composer!”

Adrien tries to keep his disgust from showing outwardly. He doesn’t know what kind of lies the man has been feeding to Chloe, but he knows quite well that XY doesn’t write any of his own music.

“I was telling Xavier that you could send that score you’re writing to him for a critique. He’s really talented, you know. He could really help you get it off the ground.”

“Yes, Adrien, I’m absolutely willing to help you. Just say the word,” Xavier says with an incredibly smug smile. “I’m always interested in mentoring amateur composers. It is, after all, how I got off the ground. And who knows? Perhaps someday you’ll be as successful as I am. You might even surpass me.”

“Thanks, Xavier,” says Adrien. “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m searching for someone to take a second look at the piece.”

Chloe’s polite society smile falters. She places her champagne glass down on the table and turns to Xavier. “Pardon me, Xavier, but I need to speak to my fiancé in private for a moment.”

“Of course, my dear Queen Bee. I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he responds, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckle.

“Oh, you charmer,” Chloe says, pulling away with a giggle as Adrien tries not to gag.

Chloe takes Adrien’s hand and leads him back inside before shoving him against a corner, where Xavier can’t see them. She glares at him and pushes her index finger into Adrien’s chest, and the sharp edge of her nail pressing through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“What was that, Adrien? What do you mean ‘when you’re looking for someone to take a second look’? You’ve been complaining to me for months that you can’t find anyone who can critique your work, and now that I’ve found someone, you’re just shrugging him off?”

“You don’t understand—that man—he’s a hack! I know he’s your university friend, but he doesn’t write any of his own music. He doesn’t even know the meaning of being a real musician. He can’t help me. I’m trying to write something real.”

“Real—fake—I don’t know what any of that means, but I do know that you’re going to come back outside with me right now and accept Xavier’s very kind and generous offer to critique your work. I’m tired of listening to you whine about not having a mentor, and I’m not going to let you drop this opportunity.”  

Chloe leads him back outside.

“Xavier, darling! He says he’ll be happy to send his score to you.”

“Marvelous!” says Xavier. “I knew you’d come around to it, champ.”

Adrien bites back the sarcastic retort on the edge of his tongue, nodding amiably instead.

“So, Xavier’s taking us _clubbing_ tonight,” says Chloe, eyes glittering. “Won’t that be fun?”

“I know a great club just down the street from my hotel,” says Xavier. “It’s a Parisian landmark. The DJs are incredible—have you heard of DJ Nino? He is _so_ talented. We’re quite close, you know. Talented musicians just seem to find each other, I suppose!”

Adrien tries not to roll his eyes. He knows that there’s no way that Xavier could possibly know that the man he’s trying to name drop is Adrien’s best friend from collége, but it’s getting increasingly harder to be polite.

* * *

At the club, Xavier tries to impress Adrien with tales of how he’s been bonding with Nino over the past few months until Nino comes up to them himself and politely shakes Xavier’s hand before turning to Adrien and wrapping him in a bear hug.

“Thanks for coming tonight, man! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come on, I’m gonna buy you a drink. We can catch up before I have to go back down to the booth for my next set.”

He nods at Xavier and Chloe. “XY, my man, take care of Chloe here, alright? He’s my main man’s lady. Make sure she has fun, and tell the bartender that all drinks are on me.”

As soon as the two of them disappear, Nino turns to Adrien with a frown.

“You look like a wreck, dude. What’s going on? Why are you hanging out with that poser?”

“Apparently he’s Chloe’s best friend from university,” says Adrien, scowling. “I can’t stand him, but she’s fascinated by his talent." 

Nino raises an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s really going on?”

“Chloe thinks I should give up composing.”

“You know she doesn’t speak music. Don’t let her get to you.”

“It’s not just that. I’m really trying to write something meaningful, something that captures the essence of nostalgia—playing off the passage in An American in Paris, but I’m stuck. I’m struggling, and I don’t know who to talk to about it. And Chloe wants me to ask Xavier for advice, of all people. What can he tell me?” 

“Okay, okay, calm down,” says Nino, patting Adrien on the back. “I’ve got something that can help you relax.”

He whispers to a bartender who immediately produces a strange looking drink and slides it in front of Adrien. It’s practically neon green in color, and he stares at it dubiously. 

“What is this?”

“It’ll help you have a good time. A little bit of absinthe, a little bit of crème de menthe, a little bit of Everclear, and a lot of fun.”

“I don’t know about this, Nino—”

“Don’t think so hard, and don’t let Chloe get you down. Just let yourself go with the flow and move to the beat. Just like uni.”

“Nino…”

“I’ll see you on the dance floor, my man,” says Nino with a laugh as he pats his friend on the back and heads down to the DJ booth. “Try to have a good time!”

Adrien shrugs and starts drinking. Surely it can’t be that bad.

 

* * *

 

 

The drink was a mistake.

After finishing the drink, Adrien feels dizzy, and he somehow finds himself back on the street instead of on the dance floor, where he intended to be.

He’s lived in Paris his entire life, but all of the streets seem completely unfamiliar and new in his daze, and he has no idea where he is. His phone must be somewhere in his pocket, but he doesn’t feel coordinated enough right now to look for it without dropping it, let alone making a call.

Adrien needs to find somewhere to sit, and finally finds some empty stairs to collapse on just as the pealing clock bells announce that midnight has arrived.

His head is pounding, and he regrets every single decision he’s made since downing the drink Nino gave him, and he just wants to go home.

And then an old fashioned car filled with partygoers in the back stops next to him, and the driver, who looks remarkably cat-like, leans out the front window.

“Hey you, are you coming to the party or not?" 

“What party?”

The two well-dressed partygoers lean out of the back window.

“The party at Cole Porter’s, of course. Come join us! We’ll give you a ride!”

Adrien looks around to make sure that they’re talking to him and not anybody else before shrugging and getting in. This is probably some alcohol-induced fever dream, and he might as well go along with it. 

He turns to the well-dressed man sitting next to him. “So, this party is at Cole Porter’s? Is this a 1920s themed event?”

The man stares at him with furrowed brows. “I don’t understand what you mean to say. Zelda, do you understand what this young man is asking?”

“You know—like a period themed event?”

“I’m afraid I still don’t follow. Did you intend to ask me the year? You do seem a little inebriated. Let me help you remember. We are in the summer of 1926.”

Adrien’s eyes widen. “You mean to say that I’m actually in the 1920s?”

“Well of course you are!” says the young blonde woman sitting next to him, an American twang evident in her French. “Where else would you be?”

Adrien looks more closely at her before realizing the woman he’s sitting next to is none other than Zelda Fitzgerald, and he leans against the back of the seat in disbelief. He’s actually in the 1920s. 

He wonders if it’s all a dream until Zelda hands him a flask and he takes a sip. The taste is strong and burns as it goes down.

It is clear that this is no dream.

 

* * *

 

 

“So what do you do, young man?” asks the man across from Adrien, who has a bit of an American accent himself, and who Adrien has realized is probably F. Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda’s husband.

Adrien thinks for a moment about how to answer before he decides what to say. 

“I…I’m a composer.”

“A composer? How exciting! We must introduce you to George,” says Zelda with excitement.

“George Gershwin?” asks Adrien, trying unsuccessfully to hide his awe.

“Of course! He’ll be so excited to meet you. He loves meeting other musicians.”

As the car pulls up to the party, Adrien is amazed to see all the literati he’s read about in school milling about in person, and he’s practically tongue-tied as Zelda drags him up to Cole Porter himself.

“Hello there, young man!” says Cole. “Nice to see some young blood around here! Make yourself comfortable and find some new friends. Many nice ladies and lads around here, and lots of dark corners,” he adds with a wink.

“I—I’ll keep that in mind,” stammers Adrien as Zelda giggles and drags him to George Gershwin, who she has just noticed in the corner.

“Georgie! I’ve got a new friend for you! He’s a composer too, isn’t that exciting?”

“Evening, Zelda,” says George, nodding politely before turning to Adrien. “What’s your name, my friend?”

“Ah—Adrien. Adrien Agreste. I’m a pianist, but I’ve been dabbling in orchestral scores as well.”

“That’s terrific! What are you working on now?”

“Well, I’m writing a piece with three movements, and I’m trying to capture the essence of nostalgia in the piece, inspired by—”

Adrien stops, remembering that if he’s in 1926, the Gershwin piece that his own music is inspired by hasn’t been written yet.

“Inspired by my own experiences of nostalgia while learning about earlier periods, and experiencing homesickness when I travel.”

George looks intrigued. “That sounds fascinating. How far along are you?”

“Actually…I’m struggling a little bit. I’m not sure how to achieve the feeling I’m aiming for. The theme feels a little disconnected to me.”

“Well, it’s always like that at the beginning. A first draft is never perfect, unless you’re Beethoven.”

“I am actually looking for someone to show it to, but nobody I know is up for the challenge.”

“Well it certainly seems like an intriguing project to me—Adrien, you said your name was, right? If you don’t mind, I’d love to see it.”

“Yes!” says Adrien eagerly. “And really? I would appreciate that so much!”

George nods. “Of course. Bring it by, and I’d be happy to look at it.” 

Adrien’s ecstatic. Showing his piano score to none other than George Gershwin himself is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Of course, his own music is based on a piece that Gershwin won’t write for another two years, but he doesn’t have to mention that. He just has to show him, and get some feedback.

Feedback that will be far more valuable than anything that pompous and irritating XY could possibly provide in a million years. 

He turns to George, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ll—I’ll bring it right now! Just let me run to my apartment and pick it up—I’ll be back in a moment!”

George laughs. “Take your time, my friend. Enjoy the party. If we don’t find each other again tonight, just bring it by tomorrow. Cole is hosting another party at a salon not too far from here.”

* * *

As Adrien bids farewell to George and walks back onto the street, a sudden breeze rustles through his hair. He whirls back around and sees that the salon has turned into a Laundromat with very modern neon lighting.

He’s back in the present, and judging from the street signs, only a block from where the nightclub is. Adrien pulls his phone out of his pocket again and sees that it’s working again, and is surprised to see that only a half hour has passed since the car came by.

He’s not sure if he just imagined the events of the night, but what he does know is that he’s exhausted, and it’s highly unlikely that he will be able to get his piano score to George Gershwin tonight.

He is not in the mood to return to the nightclub right now, so he stumbles back to the apartment and falls asleep, musical notes and melody swimming in the darkness in front of his closed eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning Adrien feels almost giddy as he recalls the events of last night, and he’s still not sure if he dreamed the whole thing. But it felt too real to be a dream—it must have happened. Still, he feels like he was in a daze.

At breakfast, Chloe notices he’s acting strange, and she asks him what’s going on.

“Chloe—I traveled to the past last night. To the 1920s.”

“What?! Adrien, did you take some drugs from Nino? I thought you outgrew that kind of behavior after university. I’m going to have a serious talk with him.”

“No, Chloe—I’m serious! I was just walking down the street, when an old-fashioned car pulled up—and I got in and suddenly I was in the past. I even met George Gershwin and Cole Porter, and George said he would look at my piano score! I tried to come home to get it, but somehow I came back to the present. But I’m going back tonight, and I’m taking the music with me.”

Chloe stares at him, concerned. “Adrichou, are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something? Should I call the doctor?”

Adrien shakes his head in frustration. “No—I’m fine! I can prove it. Come with me tonight. I want to show you. It was amazing, Chloe, I promise.”

Chloe narrows her eyes. “I’ll only come with you on one condition. You send your score to Xavier too.”

“Deal.”

* * *

After a day spent shopping and purchasing seventeenth century furniture, including a large sofa that goes right in the middle of the living room of the new apartment and a reluctantly sent email with a musical score attached to Xavier, Chloe finally agrees to accompany Adrien to the street corner where he was taken to the past—though she is still reluctant about the whole endeavor.

Late in the evening, Adrien takes Chloe to the place where the car came by, his piano score in his bag. As they sit and wait for the cab to show up, Adrien is practically giddy with excitement.

“Chloe, you won’t believe it—you’re going to have such a great time! I met so many amazing people last night—all of the artists and musicians we read about in school!”

Chloe groans. “Adrien, we’ve been waiting here for forty minutes and my back is starting to hurt. Where is this magical cab?”

“We just need to be patient. I’m sure it’ll be here soon.”

They sit in silence for another half hour, with no cab in sight, and Chloe sighs.

“I knew I shouldn’t have come. I’m going back home.”

“No, Chloe—I’m sure it’ll be here soon!”

Chloe shakes her head and gets up.

“Adrien, I’m tired, and I’m heading back to the apartment. I’ll see you in the morning. Please don’t stay out here too late. Daydreaming is fine in the daytime, but you need to be up in the morning.”

Despite Adrien’s protests, Chloe walks away, heels clicking loudly, and Adrien sighs and leans back against the steps. Sure enough, as soon as the clock strikes midnight, the car with the strange driver appears, and Adrien is on his way to the salon where Cole’s latest soiree is being held.

The crowd is as fascinating and lively as before, and Adrien quickly finds George and hands him the score, who tells him he can get it back to Adrien by tomorrow, at Gertrude Stein’s party.

Adrien only has a few moments to marvel at how many parties the literari attend before he gets roped into yet another conversation about musical lyrics with Cole—and then he sees _her._

With an airy cloud of hair so dark it looks like the midnight sky, with eyes sparkling like sapphires through the holes in the silk scarf she’s wearing as a mask, she seems like a freckled fairy walking among mortals, sauntering through the crowd in a crimson red dress.

Cole smiles knowingly. 

“Ah, I see you’ve noticed our gorgeous muse,” he says.

“Who is she?” asks Adrien, lost in complete awe.

“Why don’t you go say hello and find out? She’s quite friendly, you know,” says Cole with a tiny smirk as he saunters away, humming a song.

Adrien is still too nervous to approach the beautiful young woman, so he stands in a corner and watches her for a while. She seems to be both familiar and popular among the other guests, who approach her with big smiles before regaling her with what appears to be fascinating discussion at first. 

She seems a little restless though, her sparkling blue eyes wandering around the room, and they light up when she spots Adrien walking toward her, finally having gathered up the courage to approach.

“Bonsoir, my lady,” he says in a rush. He’s not sure why he adds “my lady” to the end—but for some reason, doing so feels right.

“Bonsoir, mon cher,” she replies, with a cheerful smile. “I’ve noticed you staring at me for some time now. I’m so happy you finally found the courage to come say hello.”

“Yes—I—I get a little nervous when I meet new people sometimes,” he admits.

“Come, let us sit and chat,” she responds, gently tugging him by the arm over to an empty booth. “The music is too loud here for me to hear you.”

As they slide into the seats, Adrien marvels at her easy grace.

“What’s your name?” he asks the mysterious young woman.

“Ladybug,” she says, and he’s dazzled by her perfect smile.

“Ladybug? Is that your real name?”

“Of course not,” she replies with a merry laugh.

“What _is_ your real name?”

She brushes off the question with an airy wave.

“It doesn’t matter. Nobody here calls me by my real name anyway.”

“I’d still like to know—” Adrien starts, before her gaze turns sharp and closed off and he realizes that he’s prying.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Ladybug’s stare softens, and she relaxes once more and considers him. “You’re quite handsome, you know.”

Adrien flushes pink. “Th-thank you,” he stammers, as she ruffles his hair with an affectionate tousle.

“I think you’re in need of some relaxation,” she says, softly but firmly, and Adrien isn’t about to argue with that.

Ladybug waves the waiter over and orders two drinks. From the affectionate banter between the two of them, it’s clear that she’s a regular here, and Adrien wonders if she ever comes in here without the mask.

Not that that’s any of his business.

Still, he’s curious.

After the drinks arrive, she passes one over to Adrien. The glass is dark green and opaque, cool to the touch. He’s not sure what the drink is, but it’s delicious, and it fills him with a frenetic warmth as it goes down his throat.

Ladybug watches him with a languid smile.

“So, tell me about yourself, handsome boy.”

“I—I’m 26,” he stammers.

Ladybug smiles fondly. “Ah, but you still have the face of a young man. You remind me of a little kitten, un petit minou. But I interrupted—please continue. I’d love to hear your story.”

“Well, I run a fashion company that my father started, though my real passion is for music.”

“A businessman with the heart of an artist! I _am_ intrigued. Go on.”   

“But Chloe—my fiancée—thinks I should give it up. Music, that is—not the business." 

“So you’re engaged?”

“Yes.”

Ladybug gazes at him with keen eyes. “Do you love her?”

“I’m committed to her, if that’s what you’re asking,” he responds, mildly defensive.

“It wasn’t. But I understand now,” she says.

She leans back in her chair. “So, where is she tonight, your fiancée?”

Adrien shrugs. “She’s probably still with our friends. We were all dancing at a club, and I had a little bit too much to drink, and I got lost. And then I guess—now I’m here, with you." 

“Is that so?”

“Yes—actually, I’m from a different time, you see. I’m from…the future. The 21st Century, to be exact,” he confesses, nervously clenching his hands around the glass.

He knows he sounds crazy, but something tells him Ladybug might just believe his unbelievable tale.

“How very interesting,” murmurs Ladybug as she caresses the edge of her glass.

“You…don’t think I’m crazy for saying that I’m from a different time?”

“Should I?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, no. I guess I’m just surprised.”

“You will find that we are all quite open, here in Paris. People come here from many different times and places. You are no exception.”

She finishes her drink and eyes his glass, which is still mostly full.  Adrien blushes.

“I’m sorry—I like the drink, I just thought I’d probably had too much to drink tonight already…and I’m not sure if I’ll be able to find my way back to my apartment.”

She laughs, and it’s a charming sound that reminds him of musical chimes in a summer breeze. 

“You worry too much, mon petit minou.”

The band is playing a cheerful song, and she jumps, clapping her hands with glee.

“Ah, I love this song! Come, mon chaton, let’s dance,” she says, grabbing Adrien’s hand and pulling him into the crowd.

The energy is wild and frenetic, and Adrien quickly gets swept up into the music, though it’s a far cry from the pulsing dubstep in Nino’s nightclub.

 

* * *

 

After what seems like hours, but must only be a half hour at most, the crowd settles down again, breaking up into little groups, and Ladybug yawns, her gaze drooping into a half-lidded stare as she turns with sleepy smile to Adrien.

“I do believe I’m getting a little tired,” she says. “Would you accompany me home?”

“With pleasure,” says Adrien, offering an arm.

They walk in silence as she directs him toward her apartment, and Adrien has a million different questions he wants to ask her, but he finds himself tongue-tied.

Ladybug stops in front of a rather shabby looking building and looks at Adrien expectantly.

“Is this you?”

“Yes, this is where I must leave you, mon petit minou. Thank you for a lovely evening. Will I see you again soon?”

Adrien grins. “I hope so!”

“Wonderful,” she replies warmly, squeezing Adrien’s hands before turning around and walking up the stairs.

Adrien waves goodbye to Ladybug as she walks inside, and once again, as soon as he turns around, he finds himself back in the present, and sighs as the feeling of magic dissipates from the air.

He tries calling Chloe to let her know that he’s on his way back to the apartment, but it goes straight to voicemail, and he realizes that she’s probably asleep by now—she usually never misses any of his calls otherwise.

When Adrien returns to the apartment, he’s surprised to see that she’s not there—but he’s too tired to worry about it, and he collapses onto the bed almost immediately, haunted by the deep cerulean blue of Ladybug’s eyes as he closes his own.

* * *

The next day, Chloe wants to spend the entire day with Xavier again, even though Adrien isn’t even remotely interested. Still, the etiquette training drilled into him from childhood forces him bite to back his concerns and join Xavier and Chloe for lunch.

Adrien makes it through thirty minutes of painful conversation before even Nathalie’s strictest training makes it impossible for him to last another second listening to the man harp on about how many records he has sold and the key to fame in the music business after ripping Adrien’s music to shreds without wanting to throttle him.

He makes an excuse about having a stomachache and escapes the lunch, almost running as he flees from the restaurant.

Once on the street, Adrien wonders what he should do, now that he has a few hours free.

It occurs to him that he could go back to the Dupain-Cheng Patisserie and pick up another croissant—and perhaps talk to the cashier again, but when he gets there, he finds that it is closed. 

* * *

 

 

That evening is Chloe’s weekly evening spa session, so as soon as she shuts the door to their bedroom, Adrien slips out of the apartment and back onto the street. He waits impatiently for midnight to arrive, and as soon as the black cab and catlike driver pulls up, he practically jumps in.

“Where to tonight, monsieur?” says the driver, clearly amused by his passenger’s youthful enthusiasm.

“Take me to Gertrude Stein’s house, please,” responds Adrien in a rush. “Quickly, please—there’s someone I need to see.”

The driver grins. “Too beautiful to be kept waiting, is she?”

Adrien doesn’t bother correcting him, because even though he is on his way to Madame Stein’s home to meet George Gershwin, he can’t deny that he’s also hoping to meet Ladybug again, for she is a fascinating woman. 

By the time the driver pulls up in front of Gertrude’s home, Adrien is bouncing up and down in the seat, impatient to arrive.

The driver snickers at his restlessness before driving away with a wave.  

As Adrien walks in, he searches around for George but can’t find him, when he is told that George has not yet arrived. His mind immediately turns to Ladybug then, and he asks everyone he sees about her.

“Ladybug—is she here tonight?”

Most of the other partygoers shrug, but a pair of Spanish dancers finally point to the back room, murmuring something he can’t understand as he brushes past them to walk down the hallway to the room where they say she is. 

As he swings the door open, he sees Ladybug sitting on the floor, surrounded by a sea of silk, feathers and sequins, holding a needle in her hand. She’s completely absorbed by her work, a smile hovering about her lips. She looks more content than he’s ever seen her before, as cozy and comfortable as a housecat. 

“You like to sew!” he exclaims, and for some reason the revelation makes him feel like a young child opening his first present at Christmas.

As Ladybug looks up and beams at him, it takes his breath away. Adrien’s only known her for two evenings, but something tells him he’s being treated to a rare smile.

“Hello again, handsome boy. And yes, it is a true passion of mine. I would love to be a designer someday, to create beautiful gowns and suits for beautiful people.”

“But aren’t you a designer already? I saw you talking to several others at the party the other night.”

She shrugs. “I am just a hobbyist. My main purpose is to serve as inspiration for all of the other artists here.”

“You can be an inspiration and an artist at the same time, you know,” Adrien says.

“Perhaps,” she replies, though skepticism clouds her eyes.

Adrien sits down next to her. “What are you making?”  

“This particular dress will be a costume for Mademoiselle Josephine Baker. We are friends, you know. I have made several costumes for her before—she likes my work.”

Adrien turns his practiced eye on her stitches and embroidery, and is stunned by the intricacy and detail of her work.

“You are incredibly talented!” he says in awe.

“You are a sweet flatterer, mon minou.”

“No, I’m serious!” cries Adrien. “This dress would sell like hotcakes in a department store.”

Ladybug smiles; it’s clear that she is quite surprised by his enthusiasm.

“Do you truly think so?”

“Absolutely,” says Adrien, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You have some serious talent. If Coco Chanel, and Jeanne Lanvin can do it, I believe you can be a star too! You have the same talent—I can see it. And believe me, I would know. I work in fashion.”

Ladybug gazes at him warmly before picking the needle back up. They lapse back into a comfortable silence as she resumes her work while Adrien watches. After a few minutes, one of the Spanish dancers from before beckons at Adrien. It appears that George has finally arrived, and is waiting for him in the drawing room.

“Ladybug, I have to go meet with George—but it was so nice seeing you again,” he says.

“Leaving so soon?” she replies with a little pout. “Ah well, c’est la vie. Enjoy your little chat, mon chaton,” she says with a little wave.

 

* * *

 

George is waiting at the edge of his chair and holding Adrien’s music in his hand when Adrien walks into the room, and smiles when he sees him.

“Adrien! I’m so glad to see you here, old champ. So I’ve looked at your piece, and I really like it. However, while it has passion and a basic theme, it seems to lack focus overall. The story doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and it sounds like it belongs in two places at once—it gets lost halfway in. You have to decide what you want from the music, and go from there. Figure out what story you want to tell with the music, and how you want the audience to feel.”

“I think I understand what you’re saying,” replies Adrien hesitantly.

“Think about it this way. It’s clear that you want your audience to feel a sense of nostalgia, but where do you want to go from there? Do you want them to transcend that state, or do you want to stay there? It depends on what you’re looking to achieve from the music. And at the moment, it seems like you don’t know what the answer is yourself. Am I making any sense?”

“Absolutely,” says Adrien, nodding as the puzzle pieces start falling into place. He’s starting to realize a lot of things all at once, and it’s like his eyes have been opened to an entirely new world of possibilities.

“Well, I am happy to hear that,” says George with a smile. “I do enjoy talking to other young composers like yourself. You’ve got a lot of talent, my friend! I look forward to seeing your other work.”

“Thank you so much for your help,” says Adrien. “Your comments have been incredibly eye-opening.”

 

* * *

 

 As Adrien walks back from the party, he wonders about everything that’s been happening over the past few nights.

About how drawn he feels to Ladybug and why, while he keeps moving further and further away from Chloe, even though Ladybug belongs to a different time and place and Chloe is his own _fiancée_ , for crying out loud.

Maybe he needs to try harder. Maybe he needs to give Xavier a chance, even though he is a pompous bastard.

He needs to live in the present.

And suddenly, Adrien knows what he needs to do to make his music work. He’s found a way out, and in a matter of seconds, a fully formed melody forms in his mind—a more modern passage that bridges the nostalgic old fashioned music he loves to the modern world he lives in, and he can’t wait to get home and change it.

 

* * *

 As soon as he gets home, Adrien spends most of the night working on updating his piece, and as soon as she wakes up, he tells her excitedly that he has a surprise for her, and plays her the new passages.

Unfortunately, Chloe keeps looking down at her phone and texting someone instead of listening.

“Who are you talking to?” asks Adrien, trying to mask his irritation.

Chloe smiles. “Oh, it's Xavier! Today is his last day in Paris before he leaves town to go on tour. He was suggesting that the three of us should get dinner.”

Adrien wants to say no, but he decides to commit anyway. He’s decided to make an effort, and after all, Xavier’s leaving town and he won’t have to see him again after tonight. He can make it through this.

Still, he finds himself going to the bakery again to buy another croissant as a way to take his mind off the event.

This time the young woman isn't there, but a friendly middle-aged woman who he assumes is one of the two owners the driver originally told him about. She is just as friendly and kind as the other cashier, and even throws in an extra pastry for free, refusing to take no for an answer.

As Adrien walks out the door, he notices a family photo hanging above the entrance that he hadn’t seen before, and realizes that the energetic young woman from before must be their daughter.

He smiles at the pleasant thought of the three of them together, baking delicious goods in the kitchen, and it warms him up from head to toe as he walks out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien is only able to suffer through dinner with Xavier with the thought that this will be the last time he sees the man.

But it saps him of almost all of his energy, so when Xavier invites him to come along for a final night of drinks and dancing at Nino’s club, Adrien makes an excuse of not feeling well, even though he usually jumps at the chance to see his friend in action.

But even seeing Nino at the top of his game isn’t enough to tolerate another minute with Xavier.

After Adrien drops them off at the entrance of the club, he goes on a walk, feeling restless. And though he doesn't intend to, he finds himself back in the 1920s, in front of Gertrude Stein's house, where another party is clearly underway.

He wanders inside, wondering if he can find George and thank him again for the help on his music, but he can’t find him.

But he does find Ladybug, who’s sitting alone in a corner on a sofa by the window, looking more melancholy than he’s ever seen her—a far cry from the energetic and cheerful woman he has quickly grown accustomed to seeing.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as he rushes to her side, concerned.

“Ah, mon petit minou, I don’t know if you will understand,” she replies, shaking her head and looking away.

“Try me,” says Adrien, insistent but tender.

“To everyone here, I am just an idol. A beautiful woman, who inspires, but has no real impact,” she says, looking serious. “That’s why I don’t allow anyone here to call me by my real name. No one here knows who I really am.”

Adrien furrows his brows. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Aren’t you happy here?”

“You told me I can be both an inspiration to other artists and an artiste myself, but it is not possible. Not here.”

“Why not?”

Adrien doesn’t understand. Ladybug is passionate and beautiful, both inside and out. She is spectacular, and he doesn't understand how everyone can't see that.

“They do not take me or my thoughts seriously,” she says. “If I lived in another time, where I could make a fresh start—where nobody knows anything about me but my talent—perhaps it would be possible.”

“Like when?” asks Adrien, confused. He can’t think of a better time than now.

“The Belle Époque,” breathes Ladybug, eyes sparkling. “The most wonderful period in the history of Paris.”

“You think the Belle Époque is the most wonderful period in Parisian history?" 

“Of course,” she replies fervently. “The art, the music, everything—it was perfect.” 

“That’s funny,” says Adrien. “Because that’s how I feel about the 1920s.” 

Ladybug laughs. “Where are you from, mon chaton, that you think that my time is the most wonderful of all? Surely it can’t be that terrible.”

“It’s true. I do feel that way about the 1920s. I love everything about this time period.”

“Everything?” asks Ladybug, her eyes suddenly turning keen and heavy-lidded as she leans closer.

“Everything,” murmurs Adrien as he leans in, mirroring her movement.

He realizes mere millimeters from her lips what he’s about to do, and suddenly jerks back.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and ragged. “I can’t.” 

Ladybug looks disappointed, but unsurprised. She nods.

“You're still with your fiancée, then,” she says, and it's a simple statement, but it feels like an indictment.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know.”

She stands up then, and her eyes turn inscrutable.

“Walk me home,” she says, and it’s less a request than it is a command.

 

* * *

 

 

They walk side by side in an uncomfortable silence, Adrien cursing himself internally for ruining everything between them, when a horse drawn carriage appears out of nowhere, driven by a blond man in a black mask, in a suit that looks very nineteenth century.

He stops the carriage beside them and turns to Ladybug.

“Hello, my lady,” he says with a wide grin. “It would appear that we are going in the same direction. Would you and your friend like a ride to the Moulin Rouge?”

Adrien is about to say no, when Ladybug suddenly says, “Yes, please.”

She seems utterly fascinated by the stranger as she sizes up his costume.

“What’s your name?” she asks, sounding almost breathless. Adrien’s never seen her like this; giddy, almost ecstatic.

"I prefer not to go by my real name around here, but you can call me Chat Noir, ma princesse. And what shall I call you?"

"Ladybug."

“What a lovely name! Have you been to the Moulin Rouge before?”

Ladybug nods. “It is a beautiful place.”

“And what is your name?” asks Chat Noir as he turns an amused glance to Adrien, who feels almost as though he’s looking through a strange mirror of sorts at a different version of himself. Chat Noir is tall, blond, and reticent, although his hair is a disheveled mop, while Adrien’s is neatly combed.

Adrien shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter.”

Chat Noir shrugs. “Your choice.”

Ladybug practically jumps into the carriage as Adrien reluctantly follows, unsure of what is about to happen, even though he has a suspicion.

And as they pull in front of the Moulin Rouge, his suspicions are confirmed. Chat Noir has taken him and Ladybug even further back in time, and they are now in the 1890s, in the middle of the Belle Époque—the period of Ladybug’s fantasies.

“This is everything you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?” he says, turning to Ladybug, who is cupping her cheeks with glee.

“Oh, it is, mon minou,” she says. “This truly is a dream come true. I believe I understand how you felt now, when you first arrived.”

Chat Noir leads them inside, introducing them to even more musicians and artists that Adrien has only ever seen in history books, and as he suspected, they all flock to Ladybug like moths to a flame.

She lights up like a match at all the attention, and it is clear that they love her ideas—and when Chat Noir asks her if she would like to talk to the head costume designer for the Ballet Russes right now, she immediately agrees, jumping up and down with excitement. 

And as she does, Adrien feels a little twinge in his heart, and he knows deep down that the time has come for him to let go of her.

Ladybug has helped him find an escape, and now it’s time for him to let her fly.

Even in the midst of her excitement, she senses the shift in his energy, and she comes up to him and takes his hands in hers, looking up at him with an expression that’s somehow wistful and happy at the same time. 

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” she says.

“I am. And you’re staying, aren’t you?”

She nods. “I am.”

“Good luck, Ladybug. I’m sure everyone here will love your designs.”

“Goodbye, Adrien. Thank you for being such a wonderful companion to me these past few nights. It was lovely to meet you. I hope you find happiness in all that you do.”

She reaches up and kisses Adrien on the cheek before she turns around and walks away, comfortably intertwining her arm with Chat Noir’s and giggling at something he whispers into her ear.

She doesn't look back.

As Adrien watches her disappear into the darkness of the theater, it hits him slowly and then all at once that he can’t live in this fantasy. He has to let go—for real this time, just like he let Ladybug go—and he can’t come back. Returning here to the 1920s every night is his way of escaping from the realities of his life, and he can’t keep doing it.

He has to press forward and carve a path to the future. He can take inspiration from the past, but he can’t live in it.

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien walks back down the street and eventually finds himself back in front of Gertrude Stein’s house, where a heated discussion is taking place by the front door between Ernest Hemingway and an unfamiliar American man Adrien has never seen before. They are discussing something that the American has written in his novel, and Hemingway thinks it’s strange that the American has not noticed that he has written a clear case of infidelity into his own narrative.

As he tells the American to pay closer attention to what’s happening in his story, Adrien muses that he must not be the only person with issues to work out, and keeps walking down the street. He’s had enough parties for one evening, and he’s ready to call it a night.

As he turns around the next corner, he realizes he’s back in the present, and his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He pulls the phone out of his pocket to see that he has about 30 unread texts from Nino, and he immediately opens them up in a panic. As Adrien reads the texts, he quickly turns pale, and he starts running toward his apartment.

 

* * *

 

Adrien feels like time is moving in slow motion as he throws the door open and sees Xavier and Chloe sitting next to each other on the seventeenth century sofa they purchased together, half empty wine glasses on the table in front of them. 

Their legs are intertwined, and Adrien feels sick as he watches another man kiss his fiancée’s neck and slide his hands up her back right in front of his eyes. So absorbed is he in his task that he doesn’t even notice Adrien standing there, but Chloe stares at him with glassy, unrepentant eyes, and says nothing as Adrien whirls around and walks back out the door, slamming it behind him.

By the time he gets to Nino’s apartment, it’s almost three in the morning, but his best friend is awake and waiting for him with open arms.

 

* * *

 

 

Adrien tosses and turns the entire night, and he returns to the apartment early the next morning, before Nino can wake up.

Chloe is waiting for him, sitting on the sofa. Her eyes are red, and it’s clear that she hasn’t slept either. She stands up as soon as he walks in.

“Adrien—about last night...I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, but I always had a bit of a crush on him in university, and we both had too much to drink—and it all happened so fast and then you were standing there all of a sudden, and I just—I just didn’t know what to do or say."

"You cheated on me, Chloe,” he says, slow and deliberate.

She blinks in confusion. "But…you know that none of it meant anything. I don’t have any real feelings for him. It was just a silly university crush. I would never do that to you." 

"It doesn’t matter. You still kissed him. In front of me. You didn’t stop him—and you didn’t stop _yourself_.”

“It was just a few drunken kisses, Adrien,” says Chloe, frustrated. “I was tired and needy and nobody had any idea where you were, and it’s not like we slept together.”

“I don’t care how far you went, Chloe—it’s the fact that you cheated on me at all. And with _Xavier_ , of all people—you know how I feel about him!”

“Really? Because I think this is a pretty clear cut case of the pot calling the kettle black. Don’t think I haven’t heard what you’re mumbling in your sleep for the past two nights—you keep saying shit like ‘Ladybug, come back to me’ and you expect me to believe you’ve been 100% faithful to me too?” 

“Chloe, I have never been anything but 100% faithful to you." 

“Right, because emotional cheating isn’t a thing.”

“Don’t try to put the blame on me—I have always tried to put you first, Chloe. But you’ve never even tried to see what I wanted.”

“Because what you want is silly and impractical! Get your head out of the clouds, Adrien! You’re the son of a fashion giant. Your future is in haute couture, not music. You’re not a trained composer. I don’t care what you do in your spare time, but don’t ruin both of our lives chasing after a stupid dream!”

“It always comes back to you and what you want, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does! We’re about to get married to each other. So excuse me for trying to help you be the best you can be.”

“You know what your problem is, Chloe? You never actually listen to me. Do you ever actually hear what I have to say?”

“Adrien, I don’t have time for this. The contractor is coming in an hour to discuss the changes that we have to make to the apartment. Are you going to be ready by then, or are you still going to be in the middle of this tantrum?”

Adrien shakes his head. “You know what? I’m done. You’re one of my oldest friends and I wanted to make this work, but I can’t. I just can’t see a future for us anymore.”

“Don’t be irrational, Adrien. This is just a minor hiccup. I think you should go take a shower. It’ll help you calm down.”

Adrien gets up, suddenly unable to sit still for a moment longer.

“I’m sorry—but no. I’ve got to go."

Chloe drops her stern façade, looking vulnerable for the first time in years.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. But we’re done.”

“You’re being reckless.”

“Maybe I am. But I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Adrien—”

“Keep the ring. But please don’t call me again.”

“And the apartment?”

“Leave your keys with Nathalie.”

“You’re going to regret this.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

At the door, Adrien turns back one last time to see Chloe standing by the window, furious, as angry tears stream down her face. But he can’t help her this time. All he can do is bid her farewell.

“Goodbye, Chloe. I hope things work out for you soon.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s raining, and the bright lights of Paris seem muted in the foggy air. Adrien sits by the window with a hot cup of tea, watching the rain beat against the glass like thick ropes.

Before, this would have been a perfect evening. But now he’s restless; he can’t stay inside.

The silence inside his apartment is suffocating, and if he stays still too long, his mind is flooded with images he wants to forget—Chloe’s ice blue eyes, cold and unrepentant, letting him watch another man’s hands wander all over her skin, the way her lips curled with disdain as she saw him, even though she was in the wrong—

And Ladybug, walking away into the lights in the arms of someone who called himself Chat Noir, never looking back.

Adrien shakes his head and gets up from the chair.

He puts on his raincoat and pulls out his old umbrella and walks out the door, walking quickly as he rushes out of the building. He has no destination in mind; he just needs to be anywhere but here.  

The streets are empty, but for a lone figure running quickly over the bridge toward him. It’s a young woman, breathless from running, carrying her jacket over her head like a makeshift umbrella; it’s clear that she was caught unexpectedly in the downpour. As she comes closer, Adrien realizes she is the girl from the bakery, and he calls out to her.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle!”

She stops running and looks at him, surprised. She wrinkles her eyebrows as she tries to place him, and her eyes light up as soon as she recognizes who he is. 

“It’s you!” she says, as he walks up to her and holds the umbrella over her head.

“Here, let’s share my umbrella.”

“But weren’t you walking in the opposite direction?” she asks, slightly confused.

“I was,” says Adrien, nodding slightly. “But now I’m walking back this way.”

“Oh, okay,” she responds with a shrug. “Thank you.”

“I see that you got caught in the rain without an umbrella.”

“Oh, it’s not that—I just think Paris is loveliest in the rain, don’t you?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

She’s beautiful and sweet, a nervous smile hovering about her lips as she looks down and laughs; and for a moment, she’s _dazzling_.

_Could it be—?_

“By the way, I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves. I’m Marinette.”

“Adrien.”

“I’m so happy to officially meet you.”

He smiles. “The pleasure is all mine.”

 


End file.
